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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015565">All the Love is on the Radio</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/willshakeaspear/pseuds/willshakeaspear'>willshakeaspear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, Radio station au because I can, radio au, this is just indulgence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:54:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/willshakeaspear/pseuds/willshakeaspear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For The Quarantine Les Mis Big Bang!<br/>ABC Radio was not what you’d call popular. That word wouldn’t even make it onto a Top Ten Descriptors list. In fact, out of three campus radio stations, ABC had by far the least listenership. But, Grantaire thinks, that was what gave it its charm. </p><p>Plus, if they had more people listening, they probably wouldn’t be allowed to be nearly as weird. And if there was one thing ABC Radio definitely would be called— it was weird.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All the Love is on the Radio</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> 5:00 PM to 7:00 PM EST, Mondays: Grantaire and Bahorel’s Magical Mystery Tour </b>
</p><p>ABC Radio was not what you’d call popular. That word wouldn’t even make it onto a Top Ten Descriptors list. In fact, out of three campus radio stations, ABC had by far the least listenership. But, Grantaire thinks, that was what gave it its charm.</p><p><br/>
Plus, if they had more people listening, they probably wouldn’t be allowed to be nearly as weird. And if there was one thing ABC Radio definitely <em>would</em> be called— it was weird. Grantaire fades down Peter Gabriel’s Animal Nation as Bahorel leans into the mic.</p><p><br/>
“That just about wraps it up for us, thanks for tuning in to the Jimmy-Timmy Power Hour. I’ve been Jimmy-” Bahorel gestures to himself, narrowly missing the coffee cup on the desk. Grantaire snatches it out of the way, continuing the sentence.</p><p><br/>
“And I’ve been Timmy. Up next is Clarissa Explains it All, perhaps better known as State of the Student Union. While you stretch your phone-dialing fingers, we’ll bring you home with Kids in America by Kim Wilde.”</p><p><br/>
He slides the faders back up and a persistent synth fills the studio. Leaning back in his chair, he watches as Bahorel stands up, shucking off his headphones and stretching. Grantaire stands and hands the coffee back over.</p><p><br/>
“One day you’re gonna pull a Bossuet and knock your drink all over the equipment. You know it’s an audio medium, right? You can cool it with the gestures.”</p><p><br/>
Bahorel gasps.</p><p><br/>
“I could never! The listeners would <em>know</em>, it’s the principle of the thing dear Grantaire-“ He punctuates each word with an extravagant arm movement, while Grantaire tries in vain to still the arm holding the coffee. Bahorel laughs, dancing out of reach. “Would you relax dude, it’s practically empty.”</p><p><br/>
A flash of gold catches Grantaire’s eye from outside the booth— Enjolras. State of the Student Union is his domain, and with Kids In America coming to its halfway point, it was high time to get out of his (admittedly gorgeous) hair. Grantaire manages to grab a fistful of Bahorel’s shirt and pull him to the door, shouldering it open with a grin.</p><p><br/>
“All yours, Fearless Leader.” He throws up a mock salute, releasing Bahorel’s shirt. “Have a good fireside chat.”</p><p><br/>
“I thought my new nickname was Clarissa.” Enjolras replies, smiling. “Interesting show today, what was the theme?”</p><p><br/>
Bahorel and Grantaire both did and did not have a theme. Each segment they did was a new highly-specific mix. The audience was left to guess (or more often wonder) what the connecting thread was. Sometimes it was as simple as a mood, but they often went further than that.</p><p><br/>
“I thought it was obvious after the bass-boosted Rugrats theme,” Bahorel says. Enjolras furrows his brow.</p><p><br/>
“No, actually that made it more confusing.”</p><p><br/>
“It was Nickelodeon TV and movie soundtracks.” Grantaire supplies. Enjolras ahh’s in realization as he walks into the booth, letting the door fall shut behind him. Grantaire watches as he settles in the chair, pulling the headphones on and adjusting the mic. The On Air light casts a faint pink glow onto the blonde curls, and—</p><p><br/>
—Bahorel’s elbow finds his ribs, and Grantaire has to stifle a yell.</p><p><br/>
“What the hell?” He hisses.</p><p><br/>
“You were staring again.”</p><p><br/>
“Was not.” Grantaire protests weakly. There wasn’t much of a point. Everyone and their mother knew he’d nursed a slight crush on Enjolras since shaking hands with him a year ago. He blames it on his brief stint as an art major— he’s a helpless devotee to beauty, and Enjolras is beautiful. If Grantaire was honest with himself, which he hardly ever was, then he would admit it might be deeper now that they were friends.</p><p><br/>
“Were too. Come on, if you’re going to be this thirsty I’ll need a refill.” Grantaire laughs, and lets Bahorel steer him by the shoulders down the hallway to the tiny studio kitchen.</p><p><br/>
The kitchen is another charming eccentricity in a station full of charming eccentricities. It’s small, and looks like it hasn't changed since the 70s. It’s all warm yellows and wood cabinets, big floral wallpaper fading in spots. Many nights, the whole ABC crew would cram themselves in like sardines. The table and four vinyl-covered chairs would take more weight than they should, and everyone else would find space on the countertops and linoleum floor. Maybe if they all liked each other less it would be less pleasant, but Grantaire loves those nights the best.</p><p><br/>
Bahorel heads straight for the ancient percolator, while Grantaire goes for the sink in search of his favorite mug. Combeferre and Courfeyrac sit at the table, softly arguing over an open laptop. Courfeyrac waves cheerfully, and Combeferre nods at him in acknowledgement without breaking his sentence.</p><p><br/>
“I’m just not sure how to classify it, scientifically the evidence is all over the place, and I don’t know if there’s an issue of cultural appropriation-“</p><p><br/>
“It’s in the cupboard, R.” Courfeyrac interrupts Combeferre’s rant. “Joly did procrastination dishes. You know how he gets around midterms.”</p><p><br/>
“Bless Joly’s procrastination methods.” Grantaire says emphatically. He roots around in the cupboard until he emerges triumphant with a yellow mug bearing a llama with a handlebar mustache, labeled “Dali Llama”. “I haven’t washed this thing in weeks.”</p><p><br/>
Combeferre wrinkles his nose. “That is so unsanitary.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh you’re one to talk.” Coufreyrac says. “You’d leave dishes for weeks at home if I didn’t do them.”</p><p><br/>
“That’s different, this is a communal kitchen.” Combeferre mutters, cowed. Grantaire pats him on the shoulder as he slides into the chair next to him.</p><p><br/>
“It’s okay, Ferre, we all know you’re a hypocrite. Now, what’s scientifically and ethically dubious?”</p><p><br/>
“This coffee.” Bahorel huffs, dropping into the chair next to Courfeyrac.</p><p><br/>
“I suggested we cover Skinwalker Ranch for this week’s episode.” Courfeyrac explains.</p><p><br/>
“Oof, there’s a ton to unpack there.” Bahorel grimaces as he takes another sip of the coffee. “Just do another episode on how sexy Combeferre thinks Mothman is.”</p><p><br/>
Combeferre groans and drops his head into his hands.</p><p><br/>
“That was <em>one</em> time.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 7:00 PM to 8:00 PM EST, Mondays: State of the Student Union with Enjolras </b>
</p><p>Enjolras leaves Grantaire and Bahorel at the door to the booth, smiling to himself. He sits down right as the last notes of music fade away.</p><p><br/>
Enjolras loves his show. He gets to talk all he wants for an hour- and Enjolras wanted to talk a lot. He knows himself, and is aware that he has a tendency to soapbox. His friends are indulgent, and professors generally tolerant, but he has to actively stop himself from preaching sometimes. State of the Student Union was his opportunity to let loose a bit more. After all, that’s what callers tuned in for. For a debate, a rant, or to hear him “pop off”, as one listener put it the week before.</p><p><br/>
That listener might have been Eponine. On slow nights, his friends would put on a voice and call in to ask him something.</p><p><br/>
He appreciated them more than they knew.</p><p><br/>
He slides the headphones on, attention momentarily stolen by movement from the door. Bahorel slings an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, and Enjolras watches the broad smile on his face as he’s led away. Grantaire’s easy laughter fills his mind as he turns to the microphone and begins.</p><p><br/>
“Hello everyone, like Timmy said this is Clarissa, and I’m here to explain it all.” Enjolras notices the call waiting light blinking. “It looks like we’ve already got a caller, so it seems you’re all eager for discussion tonight. Caller one, what’s your name?”</p><p><br/>
“Oh hi, uh, my name is Marius. Pontmercy. I don’t know if you need last names?”</p><p>“We don’t, but that’s fine. What did you want to discuss today?”</p><p><br/>
“Okay this is going to sound crazy but I just ran into a girl, I mean literally, and she was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my whole entire life.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras blinks at the microphone.</p><p><br/>
“Um. Okay. Do you have a point?”</p><p><br/>
“Well, uh, I really want to take her to coffee or something but I have no idea who she is and if I’ll ever see her again. It was really just- one minute she was there and then she was gone, ya know?”</p><p><br/>
“I do not.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh.” This Marius guy sounded crushed. Enjolras honestly couldn’t care less.</p><p><br/>
“Look, uh… Marius, have you ever listened to the show before? This isn’t really what it’s for. We’re not like Craigslist Missed Connections here. It’s called State of the Student Union. Usually callers talk about a campus issue, or a world issue-”</p><p><br/>
“This is a campus issue!”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras groans in irritation. And he had been in such a good mood.</p><p><br/>
“There are real problems!” He snaps. “Who cares about your lonely soul?”</p><p><br/>
He catches movement from beyond the glass out of the corner of his eye. Feuilly sits in the rack room, mouthing something that looks suspiciously like “yikes”. Enjolras winces and backpedals.</p><p><br/>
“No offense, I’m sure she was lovely, but instead of calling a radio show, <em>about politics</em>, that she in all likelihood doesn’t listen to, you might want to try just going back to the spot where you ran into each other. It might be that she walks that way to class, in which case she’ll be there again. Does that help?”</p><p><br/>
“Oh, yeah that’s actually a really good idea!” Enjolras rubs his temples. It seemed like Marius had honestly not even considered that option. “Thank you so much!”</p><p><br/>
“Uh-huh. Good luck, and…” He sighs deeply. “Thanks for calling.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras glances back up at Feuilly, mouthing “Better?” Feuilly gives him a thumbs up. Enjolras looks back down at the blinking call waiting light, and switches to line two with a sense of great trepidation.</p><p><br/>
“Well, that was interesting. Let’s see what Caller Two has to say.”</p><p><br/>
“Uh, hi, I was just wondering how you felt about voter suppression of younger generations?”</p><p><br/>
“Oh thank god.” Enjolras mutters.</p><p><br/>
“What?”</p><p><br/>
“Nothing. Voter suppression is a huge issue, and honestly I could spend ages going through all the marginalized people whose voices are silenced in elections because of it…”</p><p><br/>
And he does.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 4:00 PM to 5:00 PM EST, Tuesdays: Quack-a-mole! with Joly and Bossuet </b>
</p><p>“How many rock-based puns do you think I can fit into this show before Joly hits me?” Bossuet asks, doodling absently in the margins of the notes for the episode.</p><p><br/>
“What’s your subject this week?” Musichetta asks, looking up from the book she was trying her best to cram for.</p><p><br/>
“We’re doing crystals in medicine.”</p><p><br/>
Musichetta hums thoughtfully.</p><p><br/>
“If anyone would hit you over crystals, my money would be on Jehan. Besides, as far as Joly is concerned, puns are like… your job on the show. As the non-medical student host.”</p><p><br/>
“True,” Bossuet nods. “I did come up with the name.”</p><p><br/>
Quack-a-mole was an hour of medical history, and all the weird and wild things people did to each other in the name of medicine. It was frequently baffling and a bit disgusting. Joly loves it, and Bossuet loves that Joly loves it. The pun outlet is an added bonus.</p><p><br/>
Musichetta pats Bossuet’s arm and turns back to her reading. “And it’s a real gem, babe.”</p><p><br/>
“Aaayyy.” A huge smile spreads over Bossuet’s face. “I’m definitely using that one for something later.”</p><p><br/>
Jehan wanders in, stretching their freckled arms over their head.</p><p><br/>
“Hey loves,” they say, dipping in between Bossuet and Musichetta and pressing a kiss to their cheeks. “I thought I heard my name while I was reading outside. Who am I hitting?”</p><p><br/>
“Nobody.” Joly declares, bustling in after Jehan and dropping his bag on the ground next to Bossuet’s feet. He pulls a new sheaf of paper out and hands them to Bossuet with an apologetic smile. “I think I’m going to pull a last minute switcheroo. I just listened to what Enjolras said yesterday on his show, and I was absolutely inspired.”</p><p><br/>
Bossuet scans the pages and laughs.</p><p><br/>
“I’ll have to improv a bit, but I love it. We’re on in-“ He glances down at his watch. “Four minutes, so no time to lose.”</p><p><br/>
Joly kisses him, and pulls him to his feet.</p><p><br/>
“Ew. A happy relationship? Rude.” Grantaire comments from the door. “Some people are hopeless over here.”</p><p><br/>
Musichetta narrows her eyes. “Who? Three of five people in this room are happily involved.”</p><p><br/>
“Jehan and I, obviously. I am doomed to be alone and thus I pine by necessity.” Grantaire roots around in his pocket, pulling a flask out and making his coffee Irish. He stirs it idly and gestures to Jehan with his free hand. “Jehan could have anyone they wished, and they pine by choice.”</p><p><br/>
“Why would you pine by choice?” Musichetta asks. Jehan takes the mug from Grantaire, sips thoughtfully, and hands it back.</p><p><br/>
“Art.” They say seriously. Grantaire nods again, solemnly.</p><p><br/>
“You guys will love this episode we’re about to do then,” Joly starts, eyes widening as he catches sight of the clock. “Which we will be late for if we don’t run. Boss, babe, let’s go.”</p><p><br/>
Bossuet lets himself be pulled down the hallway laughing, elbow bumping a picture frame off the wall as he passes. He makes a mental note to go hang that back up later. They arrive at the booth just as Eponine opens the door. She holds it ajar for them, and they settle in the chairs just as the last song ends. Joly adjusts the mic, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and leans in.</p><p><br/>
“Welcome everyone to Quack-a-mole, your tour of medical history! I was planning a different topic for this week, then yesterday I learned that we don’t care about your lonely soul here at ABC Radio. But as a future doctor-“</p><p><br/>
“And a future doctor’s boyfriend.”</p><p><br/>
“That too. As a future doctor and his boyfriend, I think it’s my job to at least care about your lonely heart. Now Boss, can you die of a broken heart?”</p><p><br/>
“Uhh… short answer I want to say no.”</p><p><br/>
“Do you have a long answer you want to say?”</p><p><br/>
Bossuet thinks for a moment, face screwed up in concentration.</p><p><br/>
“…Noooooooooo.”</p><p><br/>
“Well you’re mostly right.” Joly laughs. “But let’s make it a bit longer. So there is something called Broken Heart Syndrome, or takotsubo cardiomyopathy. It can be triggered by emotionally stressful events, like a breakup or romantic rejection.”</p><p><br/>
“So when you take a beat-ing, you might say.” Bossuet adds. Joly nods.</p><p><br/>
“Exactly. It can cause pain, and some other symptoms, but it’s usually treatable.”</p><p><br/>
“Whoa, whoa whoa. Wait. Joly. Are you telling me that Padme Amidala just dying after Anakin went to the dark side isn’t realistic?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 7:00 PM to 8:00 PM EST, Tuesdays: Something Cryptid This Way Comes, with Combeferre and Courfeyrac </b>
</p><p>“Alright, I’m giving her points for style, but I still don’t think she’s real.” Courfeyrac decides, looking at the print-out of the Flatwoods Monster in his hands. “Ace of Spades is a fantastic look though.”</p><p><br/>
“You can’t possibly think it’s a barn owl, though. Something roughly 10 feet tall? The disparity is too great.” Combeferre pushes his glasses up his nose. “Optical Illusions only go so far.”</p><p><br/>
“At this point you just want it to be aliens.”</p><p><br/>
“<em>Obviously</em> I want it to be aliens. We’ve been doing this segment for a year now. If any conclusions can be drawn, it’s that I really want it to be aliens. Has it been aliens yet? Hard to say. But god I wish.”</p><p><br/>
“Well there you have it folks. Your resident Mulder still wants to believe. We’ll have to see if something will convince this Scully next week, because that’s all the time we have.”</p><p><br/>
“Have a great week, and remember-“ Combeferre leans in. “The truth is out there.”</p><p><br/>
The On Air light blinks off and Courfeyrac snorts.</p><p><br/>
“Nerd.”</p><p><br/>
“We have a cryptid radio show. You knew what you were signing up for.”</p><p><br/>
Combeferre grabs his sweater off the back of the chair and follows Courfeyrac out of the booth and into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee. Enjolras sits at the table, laptop open on an essay. Courfeyrac drops into the seat next to him.</p><p><br/>
“So,” He says. “You were mean to Pontmercy.”</p><p><br/>
“Hello Courfeyrac, my day was fine, thank you, how was yours?” Enjolras mumbles, not looking up from his laptop. Courfeyrac presses it closed with a snap. Enjolras, somewhat reluctantly, looks him in the eye. “What if I hadn’t saved that?”</p><p><br/>
Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Please, all computers have autosave, and I know for a fact you work on Drive. Stop dodging the question.”</p><p><br/>
“I heard no question, Courf.” Enjolras replies, crossing his arms. He’d play this game. “If you read the record back, you’ll find you greeted me with a statement.”</p><p><br/>
“Last I checked, I was the law student, thanks. But really. You were mean to Pontmercy?”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras feels a slight blush of shame creep up.</p><p><br/>
“If you’re referring to that caller yesterday, then I wasn’t mean. Not intentionally, at least. I just snapped at him a little. And I fixed it. How do you even know him?”</p><p><br/>
“Roomed with him for a bit freshman year. He’s really good friends with Eponine, who told me about the call before her show today. I believe the exact quote she related was ‘who cares about your lonely soul?’”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras groans and hides his face in his hands. Courfeyrac stares.</p><p><br/>
“Oh my god you did actually say that, didn’t you?”</p><p><br/>
“Unfortunately those words did come out of my mouth.”</p><p><br/>
Courfeyrac bursts out laughing. He doubles over on the chair, hands scrabbling at Enjolras’s shoulder for support as he nearly loses balance and falls off. Enjolras looks at him for a moment.<br/>
“Oh, so we’re not mad about this.” He comments. “Cool.”</p><p><br/>
“Are you kidding?” Courfeyrac wheezes, wiping his eyes. “That’s the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you said that on air. I am definitely putting it on a t-shirt.”</p><p><br/>
“You are <em>not</em>.”</p><p><br/>
“The ship might have sailed already, Enj.” Combeferre admits. “I think he had Grantaire draw up a design at lunch and they’ve ordered… a number of them.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras gives Courfeyrac a withering stare. Courfeyrac just grins blithely back at him.</p><p><br/>
“I’m immune to that look by now. Besides, it could be a fundraising opportunity if we start selling them. You love a good fundraising opportunity.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras did love a good fundraising opportunity. It was undeniable. And Grantaire was talented, so the shirts would probably be really nice. He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face.<br/>
“You got me there.”</p><p><br/>
Courfeyrac’s grin, impossibly, gets wider.</p><p><br/>
“Great! They’ll be here for the station party Friday.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 9:00 PM to 11:00 PM EST, Wednesdays: Prou-verily </b>
</p><p>Jehan liked to let the sun go down before their show started. It gave them time to absorb the day, and everyone else who might be listening to start to wind down. If you needed a high energy mood for your afternoon, ambient music and spoken word was not the genre you wanted. But as the dusk turned to dark outside, and the day was coming to a close— that was Jehan’s time to shine. Just like stars.</p><p><br/>
They grip their mug of tea and spin thoughtfully in the chair for a moment. They slide the faders down as one song ends and lean in.</p><p><br/>
“Sometimes one feels like they’re the only one who ponders life’s persistent questions.” Jehan breaths into the microphone, letting the background music continue beneath their voice. “Like why we’re all American young adults, who go by our French last names. This song is by Radioactive Man.”</p><p><br/>
They fade up the track, closing their eyes and letting the sound wash over them. A soft knock sounds on the glass of the door. Jehan cracks one eye open.</p><p><br/>
Enjolras stands outside the booth, and gestures to Jehan to come over. Jehan points at the monitor and microphone idly. Enjolras levels a patented Enjolras Stare TM) at them. This specific stare seems to say “<em>I know this song is 8 minutes long</em>.” Jehan can’t argue with that, so they get out of the chair and step out of the booth, closing the door softly.</p><p><br/>
“Enjolras, to what do I owe the pleasure?”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras chews his lip and pulls them away from the booth, towards the kitchen.</p><p><br/>
“I wanted some romantic advice. I’m not great at flirting-“</p><p><br/>
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Jehan holds up a hand. “See, I’m Romantic. Capital “R”. Flirting is not my wheelhouse, unless it’s in like. A graveyard. Or sonnet form.”</p><p><br/>
“I mean, he might like a sonnet, to be quite honest.” Enjolras remarks. “Classics major and all. But I’m not very poetic either.”</p><p><br/>
“I’m going to pretend that I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Jehan says. The only one who didn’t know Enjolras had been actively trying to get Grantaire’s attention was Grantaire, and that was only because Enjolras had always <em>had</em> Grantaire’s attention regardless. “Why don’t you ask Courfeyrac? He can flirt far better than I can.”</p><p><br/>
“Ooh, are we talking about wooing R?” Eponine pokes her around the door to the kitchen. Enjolras blinks.</p><p><br/>
“Does everyone-“</p><p><br/>
“Yes.” Jehan says.</p><p><br/>
“Yes.” Eponine says.</p><p><br/>
“Yes!” Bahorel calls, appearing behind Eponine. Enjolras sighs.</p><p><br/>
“I haven’t asked Courfeyrac because Courfeyrac is as subtle as a brick.”</p><p><br/>
“Luckily for you, Grantaire is as dense as one. Subtle is very much not the way to go.” Eponine insists. “Remember when he and Bahorel first joined ABC? Grantaire is friendly with everyone but it takes him ages to realize that he’s actually friends with people and that they genuinely like him.”</p><p><br/>
“So I’ve just got to be straightforward with him?”</p><p><br/>
Jehan claps Enjolras on the back. He lurches forward.</p><p><br/>
“Exactly. Now, can you two handle this?” They ask, looking at Eponine and Bahorel. “I do have a show to run.”</p><p><br/>
Eponine waves a hand at them and tugs Enjolras into the kitchen. Jehan gratefully retreats back to the booth, settling in their chair and cuing up the next song.</p><p><br/>
“Honestly,” Eponine pushes Enjolras down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “You really gotta just get on with it. Have you even like… tried to flirt?”</p><p><br/>
“I mean… I’ve tried. I think.” Enjolras huffs. “In my own way.”</p><p><br/>
“Which is code for ‘no’." Bahorel says. Eponine reaches out and ruffles Enjolras' curls.</p><p>"Just make it more obvious. This little dance stopped being cute a while ago, Enjolras, it’s getting really hard to <em>care about your lonely souls</em>.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh.” Enjolras looks down at his hands. “Are we still talking about that?”</p><p><br/>
“Enjolras, I’ve been riding this high all week.” Eponine folds herself into the chair across from him, staring at him seriously. “I mean it. Marius has needed that newsflash for years. Since way before even I had a crush on him-“</p><p><br/>
“Wait, hold on.” Enjolras holds up a hand. “You had a crush on Pontmercy?”</p><p><br/>
“Compulsory heterosexuality does crazy things to a person.”</p><p><br/>
“Indeed.”</p><p><br/>
“Ahh, comp het. I know it well.” Bahorel says from the counter, nodding sagely.</p><p><br/>
“Bahorel, you’re straight.” Eponine points out. Bahorel blows on his coffee.</p><p><br/>
“Yep, and it’s tragic. You know how often I wish I was attracted to Feuilly? Every day, man. Every day.”</p><p><br/>
“Feuilly is the total package.” Enjolras agrees. Eponine nods.</p><p><br/>
“There’s a reason his show is called TGIF.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras furrows his brow.</p><p><br/>
“It’s on Fridays. Isn’t it Thank God it’s Friday?”</p><p><br/>
“Nope, Thank God it’s Feuilly.”</p><p><br/>
“Amen.” says Bahorel, raising his mug.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 8:00 PM to 9:00 PM EST, Thursdays: Eponine and Musichetta’s RIOT GRRL Hour </b>
</p><p>“Thanks for joining us for another RIOT GRRL Hour.” Eponine says. “That song was by Katastrophy Wife, which is incidentally what I’m looking for.”</p><p><br/>
“Before we give you one last song, we’ve got a quick announcement.” Musichetta leans in while Eponine readies the final track. “Next week we’ll have a new addition to the lineup, immediately following our show. After RIOT GRRL Hour, stick around for QUIET GRRL Hour with new teammember Cosette.”</p><p><br/>
“Now here’s Hole with Doll Parts.” Eponine slides the faders up and lets Musichetta haul her up from the chair. “What’s the genre of the new show?”</p><p><br/>
“I think it’s mostly female-driven folk?” Musichetta tugs the door open. Eponine hmms.</p><p><br/>
“Cool. QUIET GRRL is a good name.”</p><p><br/>
“Thanks!” A voice says brightly. The two turn around to see a girl in a floral dress standing next to Grantaire in the hallway. She raises a hand in a wave. “Hi. I’m Cosette.”</p><p><br/>
“Welcome!” Musichetta wedges herself in between Cosette and Grantaire, slinging an arm around Cosette’s shoulders and pulling her forward. Grantaire makes an indignant noise. “We have been sorely lacking someone else to break up all the testosterone on the show lineup.”</p><p><br/>
“I was just showing Cosette around the station.” Grantaire says. Eponine waves a hand at him.</p><p><br/>
“We can take it from here. Don’t you have a playlist to make or something?”</p><p><br/>
Grantaire pulls a hand through his hair. “Baz and I still haven’t thought of a theme for next week. I’m currently in between ‘Songs About Bees’ and basically just CDs I had in my walkman in 2005.”</p><p><br/>
“So just Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge on repeat for two hours?” Cosette asks sweetly. Musichetta high fives her.</p><p><br/>
“You wound me, Cosette.” Grantaire slaps a hand to his chest. “I also had Hot Fuss by The Killers.”</p><p><br/>
“To be fair, Helena slaps to this day.” Eponine says, mentally running through the tracklist.</p><p><br/>
“I was more of a Ghost of You fan.” Cosette admits.</p><p><br/>
“Grantaire, where did you find her? I think I'm in love.” Musichetta opens the door to the rack room, where Feuilly and Enjolras are sitting. “Guys, meet Cosette. She’s lovely and likes My Chemical Romance’s hit single Ghost of You.”</p><p><br/>
Feuilly nods. “A woman of discerning taste, though I’m more of an I’m Not Okay man myself. I’m Feuilly.”</p><p><br/>
“That should be a new question on the application.” Grantaire says. “What’s your schedule like, what’s your favorite song off Three Cheers. It tells a lot about a person.”</p><p><br/>
“I’ve always liked You Know What They Do to Guys like Us in Prison. It was good research for when I got arrested.” Enjolras deadpans and holds out a hand. Grantaire chokes. “I’m Enjolras, I- Grantaire, are you okay?”</p><p><br/>
Eponine pounds him on the back as he coughs. “He’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 7:00 PM to 9:00 PM EST, Fridays: TGIF (Thank God it’s Friday/Feuilly) </b>
</p><p>“Well everyone, once again we’ve made it through another week. I’m so proud of us.” Feuilly glances at the clock. One more song. “Thanks for blowing off a little steam with me. To send you off into a great weekend, here’s one more certified bop courtesy of Maggie Rogers.”</p><p><br/>
He slides the faders up on “Light On” and lets his head bop along. He stretches, sighing in relief as his back pops. The rest of the ABC crew were already waiting in the kitchen with pizza and beer, and he could feel his mood buoyed by anticipation and the song. He dances in the booth, smiling widely by the time the last notes fade out and the On Air sign clicks off.</p><p><br/>
Feuilly hears the sounds of the station party as soon as he steps out of the booth, following the chorus of happy voices. As soon as he reaches the door to the kitchen, something hits him in the face with a soft whump. Peeling it off, he is greeted with an eyeful of a bright yellow shirt reading “Who Cares About Your Lonely Soul?” with a smaller logo for ABC radio. He looks up to see all ten of his friends decked out in their own.</p><p><br/>
“Am I supposed to put this on?” He laughs.</p><p><br/>
“Yes!” Courfeyrac crows from the corner, perched on the countertop.</p><p><br/>
“No Feuilly! Resist!” Grantaire calls. “Don’t be a sheep!”</p><p><br/>
“Grantaire you’re wearing one.”</p><p><br/>
“And no one should want to emulate me.”</p><p><br/>
Feuilly pulls his jacket off, throwing it in the vague direction of where he’d heard appreciative whoops coming from, and tugs the t-shirt over his head.</p><p><br/>
“I propose a toast!” Bossuet declares, raising his beer above his head from where he sits piled on the floor with Joly and Musichetta. “To our new slogan!”</p><p><br/>
“Wait, we have to wait for the inspiration to get here!” Courfeyrac protests. “I invited Pontmercy himself.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh god.” Enjolras groans, letting his head fall forward onto his chest. A soft nudge comes from his side. Looking up, he sees Grantaire smiling gently at him. His chest warms slightly and he feels his face mirror Grantaire’s.</p><p><br/>
“You know this is never going to be let go, right?”</p><p><br/>
“Unfortunately.”</p><p><br/>
“It was pretty hilarious.” Grantaire sips his beer. “You are the head of state around here, so it’s just like you to be above such things as the heart.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras cringes internally. That didn’t bode well for Grantaire picking up on his flirting. He tries to salvage the situation.</p><p><br/>
“I think if you look at the shirt, I said soul.”</p><p><br/>
“Ah, yes of course. My mistake.”</p><p><br/>
They look at each other. If it wasn’t so awkward, Enjolras recognizes distantly, it might even be cute. Enjolras huffs.</p><p><br/>
“It is a nice shirt, really. Good job.”</p><p><br/>
Grantaire shrugs, but a slight flush rises in his cheeks.</p><p><br/>
“Thanks, it was just a quick design.”</p><p><br/>
“I mean it.” He scrambles to think of something someone who appreciates art would say. “The font is uh… balanced?”</p><p><br/>
“You don’t need to critique it, Enjolras.” Grantaire snorts. “Changed majors, remember?”</p><p><br/>
“Yeah, I know. But really. I like the shirt. You’re talented.”</p><p><br/>
Grantaire looks pointedly into his beer as his cheeks burn. Before he can mumble a thank you, a cheer rises up around the room. They look up to see the guest of honor, Marius Pontmercy. He beams as he holds up a shirt of his own, looking around the room and waving cheerfully. Suddenly, his face goes slack and the shirt nearly slips from his hands. He stares across the room. Enjolras follows his gaze.</p><p><br/>
Cosette is staring back at Marius from her seat.</p><p><br/>
“Oh my god. It’s you.” Marius breathes. Cosette smiles slowly.</p><p><br/>
“Oh. Hello.”</p><p><br/>
Courfeyrac looks delightedly in between the two of them. He gives them a moment, and when they don’t move, surges into action. He clambers off the counter and shoves Marius forward by the shoulders, plowing him through the assembled friends. Enjolras is shoved aside, Combeferre managing to catch him. Once he regains his balance, he looks up to find that Grantaire has already been absorbed into conversation with Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet.</p><p><br/>
He sighs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 5:00 PM to 7:00 PM, Mondays: Grantaire and Bahorel’s Magical Mystery Tour </b>
</p><p>In the end, Bahorel vetoes Grantaire’s middle school music playlist. Instead, they settle on Rockin’ Flute Solos. Grantaire has to admit, with all due respect to early 2000s pop punk, this is a better selection. He slides the faders down on Coconut Oil by Lizzo as the clock ticks to 6:50.</p><p><br/>
“And just like that, we come to the end of another Mystery Tour.” Grantaire leans forward in his chair. “We’re going to send you out with one of our favorites.”</p><p><br/>
“Rest assured we will be dancing in the studio.” Bahorel adds. “We encourage you all to do the same before the next show starts, which is a bit harder to vibe to.”</p><p><br/>
“Hey now, I can always vibe to political commentary. If you can too, stay put after this song— Kishi Bashi with Say Yeah.”</p><p><br/>
True to his word, Bahorel pulls Grantaire out of his seat as the song fades up. It starts slower, the two of them bopping gently around the booth as the instrumentation builds. There’s a short lull, then the flute solo soars. Grantaire closes his eyes, letting the music carry him. Bahorel opens the door, and Grantaire spins through it as the final chorus comes back in. He’s laughing, and doesn’t realize he stumbles until hands are steadying him.</p><p><br/>
Enjolras holds him by the shoulders, smiling as big as he is.</p><p><br/>
“Nice show.”</p><p><br/>
He doesn’t take his hands off of Grantaire. Grantaire doesn’t ask him to. He feels something like hope in his chest, but it might just be his heart beating from the dancing. He decides not to overthink it.</p><p><br/>
“Did you get the theme this time? We gave you an easy one today.”</p><p><br/>
Grantaire can feel Bahorel looking between them, with a blooming grin on his face. Grantaire puts that out of his mind too.</p><p><br/>
“Oh is that what that was?” Enjolras laughs. “I thought you were just being lazy. I got it after that Stevie Wonder song.”</p><p><br/>
Grantaire is about to respond, make some quip about always being willing to admit to putting in minimum effort. He opens his mouth, but Bahorel interrupts.</p><p><br/>
“Hey Enjolras, you might want to get in there. You’re going to be late for your show.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras’ hands abruptly leave Grantaire’s shoulders, and Enjolras runs into the booth with a mumbled curse and apology. He falls into the chair, spinning to face the microphone just as the clock hits 7:00 PM. Grantaire waits a moment, but Enjolras doesn’t turn to face him again. He spares one second to think fuck it, and reaches for his phone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> 7:00 PM to 8:00 PM, Mondays: State of the Student Union with Enjolras </b>
</p><p>Enjolras’ heart is beating way too fast. He spares one moment to breathe deep, schooling his voice into something calm.</p><p><br/>
“Welcome to State of the Student Union, your platform to speak about issues that matter to you. I’m Enjolras.” The blinking of the call waiting light catches his eye. “It looks like we already have a caller. Caller One, what’s your name?”</p><p><br/>
“Well, some people call me R.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras whirls in the chair. Grantaire is staring at him through the glass, phone held to his ear. Enjolras swallows and turns back to the mic.</p><p><br/>
“Hi, R. What did you want to talk about?”</p><p><br/>
“It’s a campus issue. Did you want to go on a date with me?”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras tries and fails to suppress his grin. “Out of curiosity, how exactly is this a campus issue?”</p><p><br/>
“Well… we could go out somewhere on campus.”</p><p><br/>
Enjolras swivels in the chair and locks eyes with Grantaire again. He tries to seem unimpressed, but Grantaire’s grin is contagious. He turns back to the microphone to answer.</p><p><br/>
“You know this really isn’t what this show is supposed to be about.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot… you don’t care about our lonely souls.”</p><p>“As I think I’ve said before, I never said anything about lonely hearts.”</p><p><br/>
“Semantics.”</p><p><br/>
“Now that's something this show <em>is</em> about.”</p><p><br/>
"Alright, here's a world issue. What's your opinion on Fair Trade? Specifically coffee. And getting it with me."</p><p>"I think more work needs to be done to ensure that Fair Trade policies are actually enforced and doing good, rather than just making privileged people feel better about their consumption and exploitation of others-"</p><p>There's a rustling and muffled swearing, then Bahorel's exasperated voice says "For the love of god Enjolras, just say yes. Please save this foreplay for when you're off-air."</p><p>Sometimes it’s good that ABC Radio is by far the least popular campus radio station. If there were more people listening to this, Enjolras would be far more embarrassed. As it is— all he feels is happiness. Popular is not a word to describe ABC Radio, but loved is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title taken from a song by Tom Jones that I have not in fact listened to, so I don't know if I should recommend it or not.<br/>This was born out of the fact that I listen to too many podcasts and make too many extremely specific playlists. I'm not sure if this is really how college radio works, but I decided to have it in a station because I wanted to have them all in one building. I tried to make this balanced with the characters while having a TAD bit of plot to frame it. I'm not sure I succeeded, but I had some fun with everyone.</p><p>If you're interested: Joly and Bossuet's show is essentially Sawbones by Justin and Sydnee McElroy, while I based Combeferre and Courfeyrac's on The Cryptid Keeper as well as a bit of Buzzfeed Unsolved. If I had written more of their segment, there might have been a bit of Astonishing Legends in there as well because you KNOW Combeferre doesn't fuck around with research.</p><p>Is this self-indulgent? Yeah. Sorry. All I hope is that I brought you a little bit of joy or laughter! </p><p>Find me on tumblr at courfeywrecked!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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